Remembering 9/11: Sharing a local tragedy with the nation

When my mom passed away in Arizona, my father chose to have her buried in Price, Utah where she was raised.   Her brother chose a beautiful, peaceful plot on a hill overlooking the town she had called home for almost 2 decades.

After my mom's interment, her resting place was covered in flowers.

Afterwards,  my dad selected a headstone for her. He put on it her name, birthdate, and death date.

 He also had room for their marriage date and sealing date, a picture of the Salt Lake Temple, a picture of daisies, the CTR emblem,a place to hold a large vase of flowers and the first and middle names of all 6 children on the back.  

My mom's brother and wife do a wonderful job taking care of my mom's plot.  They visit often, decorate the tombstone, and clear away the debris.  It's a nice peaceful place.

Why am I telling you all this in a post about 9/11?  Because yesterday, I realized that thousands of people who lost their lives that tragic day don't have any of that.

Sunday, September 11, 2016 marks the 15-year anniversary of 9/11.  It also was my first full day living in New York City.  

I walked outside my building to attend church and was met with tons of news vans, reporters, lights, and cameras.

 

It took me a second to remember why.  (It's easy to get focused on self when moving across the county.)

After church, we made a quick lunch and decided to walk over to the Memorial.  

It was a nice little short walk.  A gentle breeze had blown away the humidity and mugginess and I felt even a hint of a promise of autumn to come.

I have been to the Memorial before, but I felt like I was seeing it for the first time.  I wondered what it would be like to come to this place not as an observer, but as one who had lost a loved one.  

What would it be like to visit the final resting place of my mother only to find it surrounded by thousands of people?  That's what it is like for the 9/11 families.

The two pools serve as the headstone for the thousands of people who have one thing in common.  Their death date.

Picture of North Pool taken from my rooftop

With only their name as negative space on the panel.  

Which makes it possible to insert flowers or pictures to decorate the grave. 

But even then, the space is limiting.  

Crowds seemed to gather around the most decorated names.  

In some places, I had to wait my turn to be able to walk up to the panel.  I thought, "What if I had to wait my turn to see my mother's name?" I don't think I'd be able to.

While walking through the crowds, I saw a woman with a handful of flowers, carefully pulling off the blooms and placing them in a name.  She did it calmly and methodically.

As I saw her move from name to name, I wondered if she knew these people or was just paying respect to the tragedy as a whole.

And then I realized that we as visitors here are not invading these families' space.  We are sharing it with them.

 We may not personally know the individuals who died, but something died in all of us that day.

Their personal nightmare, was our nightmare too.  We all realized how precious and fragile life is.   We lost our false sense of security, the belief that America was safe.  Every time we take off our shoes at an airport, or have our bags checked when entering a stadium, we are reminded that danger is everywhere, even where we stand.

But while thousands of people died on 9/11, something else was born.  New York City became a symbol of  a united front, of perseverance, of patriotism.

Whenever I see the museum, 

I think back to that day when those firefighters placed an American flag among the rubble.  

As if to say, we cannot be stopped; we will rebuild.

And we did.

I think I'm going to like my new neighborhood.

Here are more pictures from that day: